


For our Covers

by waterbird13



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Cover identities, Established Relationship, M/M, season four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold overhears some interesting rumors when John starts visiting him at school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For our Covers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all--  
> Here is my second Person of Interest fic. It's short, sweet, and to the point, set in season four (really, you could put it any time in the aired episodes). There are really no necessary warnings, except you should have a basic knowledge of what's going on this season (like John as a cop, Harold as a professor, using cover identities).
> 
> Enjoy.

“Did you hear? Professor Whistler has a boyfriend.”

Harold turns as fast as he can towards the student talking. “I do not,” he says indignantly. Professor Whistler does not have a boyfriend. Professor Whistler is a mostly solitary, boring college professor who slips right under the radar and never does a single interesting, attention-grabbing thing.

No one seems to be listening to him. Granted, that’s pretty typical for when he’s here.

“What?”

“Yeah. Get this--I saw his badge and gun. Professor Whistler is dating a cop. He’s got this big dog. Probably a police dog.”

“Professor Whistler has a big dog. We saw him first day of class, remember?”

The first student shrugs. “Maybe it’s their dog. Maybe they live together or something.”

“We do not,” Harold mutters, but he knows no one is listening. They must have seen John when he and Bear stopped by the afternoon prior. He’s not supposed to come here--they are supposed to keep their cover identities as far separated as possible--but John seems to think that rules are meant to be broken.

The clock ticks over to the hour and Harold calls his small class to attention and starts to go through the notes he memorized the night before. He’s even more dull than usual, but he thinks he deserves a little slack, considering last night’s number has ensured he only got three hours of sleep.

The lecture wraps up after an hour, and he dismisses his students as he folds his notes away.

“I wonder what they see in each other?”

“Who?”

“Professor Whistler and the cop, idiot.”

“Oh. That. Yeah, I mean...wouldn’t exactly picture a cop going for that.”

Harold winces, but he is very well aware that he doesn’t look like John, that he limps, that his hairline is receding.

“And...I mean, the guy is boring as hell, but he’s fucking smart. Seriously smart. Why would he go for some cop? You think he’d find some other genius.”

Harold bristles at the insult to John’s intelligence. He wants to march over there and inform his gossiping students that John is brilliant, thank you very much, but then he would have to admit to knowing John as more than just passing acquaintances. And that would just feed into whatever dreadful story they’ve managed to cook up and he can’t allow that.

He finishes getting his things together and leaves the hall, heading for his office. He needs to get some grading in, unless there’s an emergency in the meantime. These papers simply can’t wait any longer.

John is sitting outside his office, coffee cup raised to his mouth and what is undoubtedly a cup of tea in his other hand. He’s sprawled casually on one of the chairs meant for waiting students, and he grins cheekily when he sees Harold.

“Detective Riley,” he says as calmly as he’s able to. “You are not supposed to be here.”

He offers the paper cup. “I brought you tea. You always need tea about this time.”

“I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of getting my own tea.”

“But you won’t,” John surmises. “Do you want it or not?” Harold takes the proffered cup and takes a sip.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” he waits a beat. “You going to invite me in, Professor?”

Harold conceded that any ensuing conversation will be better held in private. “Of course,” he says. “Come in. And shut the door behind you.”

Harold hears the door click shut as he drops his bag on his desk. “What on earth possessed you to come here?” he asks. “You know full well the danger this puts us in…”

“Relax,” John says smoothly. “Nothing odd about going to see a friend. Matter of fact, it would look even more weird if we had no friends.”

“And I suppose you’re doing this for the good of our covers?” Harold asks.

John shrugs. “That and there’s paperwork to do at the precinct.”

“Of course,” Harold says dryly. “Well. I appreciate the tea. But I have papers to grade, and…”

“And it would look pretty weird if I left now,” John interrupts. “Come on, Harold, talk to me.” He grins. “I miss our chats.”

Harold rolls his eyes. “Yes, well, I, unlike you, have a job where I can’t blow off the paperwork. So, you can leave or sit there quietly.”

Harold would swear John is pouting. “That’s no way to treat a friend,” he complains.

“That’s not what they think, you know,” Harold says absently, digging around for the papers. “That we’re friends.”

John looks delighted. “They jumped right to us dating? I thought I was going to have to work up to that. Something must have given you away, Harold. The longing in your eyes…”

“There has been no longing, Detective Riley,” Harold says without much heat. “They are simply hormone-filled students with active imaginations.”

“Don’t you mean accurate imaginations?”

Harold rolls his eyes. “I highly doubt that whatever they are imagining is in any way accurate.”

John nods. “Probably salacious,” he agrees. “Students have such dirty minds. Might want to ask, see if any of them have any good ideas.”

Harold flushes and resolutely ignores that. “Either way--it makes Professor Whistler interesting in a way I never intended him to be.”

“Harold--you’re good at fading into the background. But you have students staring at you every day. A professor with no life, no story, is more of a curiosity than a guy with just enough to be forgettable.”

“So you’re saying this, too, will help our covers?”

John shrugs. “Among other things. Yes. And I’d get to see you every once in a while. Maybe take you out. Take you home.”

The word hangs coldly on the air for a moment. Neither of them comments on it, on the homes they’ve burnt, that they can’t go back to until this is all over, if ever.

John stands up, stretching as he does. “I have to get back before the captain chews my ass off,” he says apologetically. “Think about it.”

“Of course,” Harold says, standing himself.

John crosses the room. “In the meantime,” he says quietly, “have to keep those rumors alive.”

Harold is about to ask what John means when John answers the question by kissing him, hard.

It’s been a while, but Harold doesn’t hesitate, grabs on to John and pulls him closer, kissing him back. He feels John’s fingers run through his hair.

They pull away a moment later, and John looks apologetic. “I really do have to go,” he says. “Bad guys to catch, city to protect.”

“Paperwork to complete,” Harold finishes dryly.

John scrutinizes Harold for a moment, then gets his fingers in his hair once more, making it stick up more than it already does. He knocks Harold’s glasses just a little crooked--not enough to truly impair his vision, just enough to make it obvious what John wants people to see. “Perfect,” he says. “Walk me out?”

Harold nods, and follows John out of the office.

John stops them at the building’s front doors. “I’ll call you later, Harold,” he promises. He squeezes Harold’s hand, and then is out the door, disappearing into the crowd.

Harold takes a second before turning back to his office, and only then does he notice the students in the halls, some of them looking at him.

He can only imagine what rumors he’s going to overhear in Wednesday’s lecture.


End file.
